


Burn Down Your Home

by forgetme



Category: Naruto
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Gen, War, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetme/pseuds/forgetme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Orochimaru became Fourth Hokage instead of Minato, Iruka struggles to survive.</p>
<p>Please note that this WiP is abandoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. From the frying pan

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old abandoned WiP (once upon a time I wanted to write long and plotty Iruka/Gai/Kakashi fic - I never got to the actual pairing part). Read at your own "risk". Mentions of character death.

Iruka could feel the greasy smear of blood, could feel it stick to his hair every time the back of his head came into contact with the wall behind him.

The feeling would make him jerk upright, a position he managed to hold for a few seconds at a time until the darkness came creeping towards him from the corners of the room and he would lose track of his existence, the who and when and where and why, and then he'd hear that _thump_ and feel that slimy warmth again and the cycle began anew.

These were the last days of his life. At least he hoped it would be days, not weeks, not months, but who knew? Either way, he would never see the sun again. No one escaped from the dark cells beneath the laboratory.

Iruka could accept his situation. Or could have, if only the cell wasn't so cold, if only the walls weren't covered in indescribable gunk, if only it hadn't been his best friend who'd brought him here.

Mizuki.

Mizuki and his big mouth. Mizuki, the traitor. No, that wasn't right. Iruka was the traitor, not Mizuki. Mizuki had only identified a threat to Konoha and reported it like any other good shinobi.

Defeated, Iruka sagged against the disgusting wall. What was the point in fighting? Better to die here than out there with the blood of innocents on his hands.

All he ever wanted was to become a teacher. But not in this village, not while the Hokage had them waging war and murdering children.

He'd told Mizuki, that was his mistake.

No, his mistake had been far more grave than that; he'd allowed himself hope.

In many ways, Umino Iruka had been lucky. Too mediocre to catch Orochimaru's attention and too good at organization and paperwork to be sent out into the killing fields, he'd qualified for a fairly cushy desk-job at the Hokage Tower.

Filing away mission reports and handing out assignments all day; it wasn't what he'd dreamed of, but it was far less painful than becoming a teacher at the academy, rushing kids through the most basic training before sending them out to get killed.

To be honest, Iruka had wanted to keep his head down and his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about what had become of his home, what his parents would say if they could see Konoha now. They hadn't given their lives to protect _this._

No, they'd died to protect _him_. And now he was going to die and render their sacrifice meaningless.

The thought brought tears to his eyes. Death he could accept, but letting his parents down –

To distract himself, he tried to remember the exact wording of that fateful mission report.

A chunin had handed it in, two days past its due date. The man had looked grim and battered. Iruka'd recognized him as a particularly humorless sempai of his, who'd caught him setting up a prank once and told on him, earning Iruka a lecture and a week of detention.

When he'd handed Iruka the report, though, the man seemed about a minute from collapsing, and didn't even look at Iruka. He left the moment the scroll was out of his hands.

Routinely, Iruka had opened the scroll to check the formalities.

He'd skimmed its contents out of boredom the way he sometimes did if the details didn't repulse him too much. After skimming the words he paused, then he _read_ them. Then he read them again, more carefully.

By the fifth reread, his heart was pounding and his clammy fingers had left imprints on the paper.

Even now, he could picture it so easily, the yellow paper and the neat rows of official print in the header. The handwritten part of the document had been messy, as if the writer's hand had been shaking at the time he filled in the blanks.

Iruka remembered the smear of dirt in the corner and the tear right next to it, although he had barely even noticed them at the time of reading.

He'd been too stunned by that one little paragraph at the bottom of the report, pragmatically titled "rumors".

_Survivor of squad 2 reported visual contact with 6 Amegakure nin in sector 5B. Enemies were overheard speaking of "the Toad Sage" before withdrawing north. No further information – last member of squad 2 now deceased._

Jiraiya-sama. How pathetic was Iruka for reading the words "Toad Sage" and thinking, _Jiraiya-sama is alive. Jiraiya-sama will put an end to this!_

He hadn't said it quite like that to Mizuki, but he did bring it up, and maybe he let his hope, that damned illusion, shine through.

He' d never thought –

In the darkness of his cell, laughter bubbled up inside Iruka, threatened to spill over. Hysterics.

Here in the laboratories it was easy to go insane. It was probably the sane thing to do. Maybe he already had and just hadn't noticed.

Mizuki… Would he be happy if he could see Iruka now? Satisfied? Proud of himself?

Iruka hoped so.

_Someone should get something out of this_ , he thought. _It can't all be for nothing._

* * *

He heard steps echoing down the hallway, growing louder and louder as they approached his cell. They were coming for him. Iruka was ready to go. But not quietly.

He had no weapon, hadn't eaten in days, barely slept the last few nights and his hands were shaking. Even without his academy education he would have known that his chances were slim to none. He accepted that, too.

* * *

Mitarashi Anko looked like she was having the time of her life.

"Iruka, how's it hanging? Wow, you look like shit!" She grinned at him.

"Thanks," he growled, voice creaky with disuse.

"C'mon." Her hand on his elbow was surprisingly gentle. "Up."

In his mind, in the hours he'd spent alone with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, he'd come up with a million things he wanted to say - to Orochimaru mostly, although he knew he'd probably never see _him_ – and to anyone who'd listen, but now that he was face to face with not just a random subordinate of the Hokage but Orochimaru's student, Anko, who'd gone to school with Iruka, whom he'd known since he was a kid, he didn't feel like talking at all.

After all, what could he say that she didn't already know?

He'd wanted to throw all these eye-opening facts at his executioner, he'd wanted to ask if they were happy, if they thought the war was justified, if they'd ever noticed how many kids left Konoha for missions and never came back, how the curse marks seemed to affect their wearers.

She knew, though, how could she not?

She knew everything and it didn't bother her; she was leading him to his death right now and it didn't bother her one bit.

Iruka stumbled along the way. Anko pushed him through the dim hallway, the flickering lights humming over their heads as moths flew and crawled all over them. A dead insect fell down just as he passed underneath, and he could feel its twitching wings brush his cheek.

Iruka shuddered.

* * *

Anko walked behind him, one hand shoved into the small of his back, as if he was a ventriloquist doll. Her other hand probably resting on her weapon, waiting for him to do something stupid.

They passed other cells, a sheer endless number of them, but all of them had thick metal doors that seemed absolutely impenetrable. He wondered how many of them were occupied. Surely only a few? More than that would be impossible, but to him it looked like there was enough room down here to incarcerate all of Konoha.

"Where are we going?" He was proud of the evenness – dullness really – of his voice; Umino Iruka was a lot of things, but he was no coward. He would not beg for his life.

"You'll see," she said, her voice resounding unnaturally loudly in the empty hallway. Something sounded differently about it, though, strained, somehow, like she was _trying_ to hit the same careless note as before and missing by a tiny fraction.

A seed of hope still sat – planted firmly – inside his chest, miniscule and almost dead before, it now came back to life, wanted to grow. He wished it wouldn't.

Light.

He could see flecks of dust dance in the air in front of him, shimmering like specks of gold. The sight almost made him tear up. It was natural light coming from the small barred window at the end of the hallway.

Maybe he would see the sun again.

But Anko steered him into a different direction, towards a narrow side corridor that, to his horror, led downwards.

Soon there were stairs, soon the lights grew even dimmer.

If he gave in to his exhaustion and sank to his knees now, would Anko kill him on the spot?

He hated the darkness, the weight of the earth seemed to press down on him, to suffocate him; it made him feel buried alive.

After what appeared to him as an eternity, they reached a door, and he knew that there would be no light awaiting him behind it.

Iruka had expected Anko to give a command for the door to be opened, instead she walked past him and fumbled with a key she retrieved from the pocket of her long coat.

This was his chance.

She was leaning forward slightly, focused entirely on the lock and key.

Iruka was behind her now, able to see the back of her neck, the fine strands of hair that had freed themselves from the elastic band she'd used to tie her hair into a ponytail.

He attacked. It was a flaily, stumbling move. He was aiming for her neck, the carotid artery, but he was too slow, too tired, too weak.

Anko slipped through his hands like smoke, sidestepping and leaning out of his reach before his fingertips so much as brushed her skin. She was behind him in a flash and the edge of her kunai bit his ashen skin.

"I thought you'd be more fun than _that,"_ she said into his ear. "It's just a few more steps now, Iruka, think you can behave?"

He thought about the things he wanted to throw in her face – insults, taunts. From the bottom of his heart, he loathed her. Deep, all-encompassing hatred, the likes of which he hadn't felt since the kyuubi. He wanted her to die.

He nodded carefully against the cold blade.

"Good boy." She reached past him and twisted the key – he hadn't even noticed when she'd inserted it – and shoved him, harder this time. "Through here."

Briefly, Iruka thought about slipping through the door quickly and slamming it in her face behind him. But before his escape plan had even fully formed in his mind, Anko was beside him, grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

He didn't know how long they'd been walking. It felt like forever and it felt like seconds. His heart raced in his chest, so fast that it seemed like it was standing still.

At some point he began to notice that the damp coldness beneath the soles of his naked feet transformed into actual wetness and shortly after that his steps produced actual splashes.

The next door was even heavier and looked like it might have rusted shut from disuse. Again Anko had to do the unlocking herself. This time, however, Iruka didn't move. A dull sort of acceptance had settled over him.

Death seemed like the least painful option to him now.

Maybe he would see his parents again. If he did, he was sure they would forgive him.

He watched with almost clinical detachment as Anko had to use both her hands and all her weight to pull the creaking door open.

A torture chamber or another endless hallway was what he had expected, but what he saw behind the door was nothing.

White, blinding light.

Iruka would have jerked back into the shelter of the dark hallway like a cockroach had Anko not shoved him forward, sending him stumbling into the mud.

Mud, soil, earth, organic and real, squishing between his fingers and toes.

Once he had recovered from the shock of daylight, he realized that the day wasn't even all that bright. The sky above him was grey and overcast, the sun hiding behind dark clouds.

And yet, it felt overwhelmingly bright and endlessly wide, the weight of his freedom, of having returned to the world, took his breath away.

"Pull yourself together," Anko, towering over his cowering form, commanded. She kicked him in the shin, hard, to make her point. "This is as far as we go."

This was it then.

Iruka tried to brace himself for death, but didn't know how. Was he supposed to close his eyes?

Anko reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out a small pouch, which she tossed at Iruka. With a splash it landed next to his feet.

"Take it," Anko said.

He didn't understand but obeyed. It was surprisingly heavy in his hands.

"What is this?" He wasn't necessarily talking about the pouch.

"I'm letting you go."

He stared at her, thinking he had misheard, misunderstood, mis- _something._

"Why?" It wasn't more than a breathless whisper, but Anko had heard him. She shrugged.

"To see what will happen." She looked up, her eyes searching the sky. When she looked at him again, her face was hard, colder than before. "You should go before I change my mind."

He did.

* * *

It was a mistake. That was what Iruka thought a day and a half later. He should have stayed and let her kill him. It would have been a quick death, and a quick death was better than a slow, painful one.

Already, he had almost used up the contents of the pouch – a small bottle of water, a tin of cooked rice and a carrot, laughably little in terms of rations. He'd tried his best to make them last as long as he could, but he'd been close to starving when Anko had come to get him, so there really had been no way for him to wait any longer.

Anko had also given him a kunai and a hitai-ate with a piece of paper stuck to it, obscuring the Leaf symbol. The note read _Good luck!_ And when he tore it off, he found that the symbol beneath was neatly sliced in half by one long scratch.

Maybe this was all a joke to her; she'd always had a strange sense of humor.

Iruka had wandered away from the walls of Konoha, into the Forest of Wind, hoping it would offer him shelter and opportunity to find food. But he was weak and tired, and other shinobi evidently had the same idea, so he was too busy trying to hide from them to actually go hunting.

There were fights, too.

As far as he knew, the Hidden Sand had a very tentative alliance with the Leaf at the moment, but shinobi from Rock, Cloud and Mist were pushing at the borders of Wind and Fire, and more and more enemy squads were making it into the nation.

Although, or so Iruka figured, at this point, all shinobi were his enemies, and Konoha ones probably most of all. He hoped they weren't looking for him. He didn't think so, what with him being nothing but a lowly chunin and Konoha being at war, but still he couldn't quite shake the fear.

He crouched in the bushes, his heart hammering like a rabbit's, knowing that he couldn't fight, could barely run; he was prey. But the shinobi darted past him, not one of them so much as turning his head.

And he breathed a sigh of relief, and he dared to blink, and all went black.

* * *

The world sank away like a stone, down, down, down. Iruka drifted above. Somewhere.

He could hear it sometimes, or he thought so at least. Under the dark and heavy waters, he could see light flickering occasionally. Voices tried to make it through, but were suffocated before they could reach him. Single words sometimes rose like bubbles and burst at the surface, sending ripples across his eardrums.

_what_

_leave_

_no_

_heart_

_mistake_

_chance_

_whatever_

The voices were male, always. Two different ones that came and went regularly, but there were others, too. Screams and shouts, but those he only ever heard once, and they never returned.

It didn't matter anyway, or so Iruka thought. He was dying either way; it couldn't be long now, and it wasn't painful anymore; it just felt like a very distant dream.

* * *

His throat was on fire; it was the first thing Iruka really felt, the first time he was aware of a part of his body, and it was _on fire_ , the pain almost unbearable. He was gasping and shuddering.

"Shhh."

He was being propped up, a hand in his hair, cradling the back of his head, while something was being pressed against his lips, something hard and cold. But liquid, liquid lapped against his mouth and Iruka couldn't hold himself back.

He was too greedy, trying to get as much water in has little time as he could, forgetting to breathe and then remembering at the wrong moment. He coughed, sputtered. Water burned in his windpipe. Someone was rubbing his back, murmuring softly. But in the distance, another voice piped up, sharp and… mocking?

Iruka did his best to focus on it, to make out the words. It was impossible, however; his head was spinning, his mind going—

* * *

He was on his dad's back, arms wrapped around his father's neck, head resting on his shoulder. Every step his father took jostled him a little, like on a pony ride.

"Where are we going, dad?" Iruka asked. "To see mom?"

"Shhhh."

Iruka blinked. He felt hot, uncomfortable. His surroundings—

He couldn't seem to get a good look at them. They were blurry, distorted.

"Where's mom?" he asked and then he saw her, blood running from her mouth, shiny red like strawberry licorice.

* * *

Iruka's eyes snapped open. A dream. Of course, he'd only dreamt. His parents were long gone.

Where was he?

It was dark, shadows flickered and twitched in the weak glow of a campfire. Iruka turned his head toward the light, toward the crackling of the fire and the hushed voices. Two figures sat hunched around it. Although they were facing him, Iruka could not make out their features, but he smelled the meat they were grilling on sticks they held over the fire, and his stomach grumbled softly.

He was starving, and yet, speaking up was not an option. He listened instead. To the sounds around him; the rustle of leaves, the chirping of crickets, the distant hooting of an owl, and the voices.

"Aren't you going to feed him tonight?" The speaker, it was hard to tell, but Iruka thought it might have been the guy on the left, sounded bored but mildly curious.

Was he talking about Iruka? He hoped so; he hoped he would be fed and wouldn't be left to starve.

"I'll try to make him a broth later, my rival, since he's had a hard time chewing solid food. I'm glad you asked, though! It's good that you are showing compassion for—" The man on the right wasn't really whispering anymore; he seemed almost incapable of it, his voice hushed at the beginning of a sentence but rising with every word. And what did he call the other guy? _My rival?_

No doubt now, though, they were talking about him.

"I just want to know how much of our resources you're going to waste this time," deadpanned Left. Iruka shivered under his thin blanket. Was he safe? They had saved him, hadn't they? That meant they wanted to keep him alive. But why?

"It's not a waste!" Right protested.

"It is, and you know it. Look, if you wanted a pet, you could have just caught a squirrel. At least that would have been fluffy and cute." Left paused, then continued more seriously, "If he doesn't die, this guy will probably try to kill you."

"He won't! I know it in my heart!" Clearly, Right was all passion and no reason, but he was on Iruka's side, which was surprising. Iruka hadn't thought he even had a side anymore.

"Whatever."

"You can't fool me, Rival, I know you care," Right said. "If you'd really wanted to stop me, you would have tried harder."

"Like the time I didn't want to take part in that eating contest and you hounded me for _weeks_? I really did try then."

"Hah, I don't give up easily!"

"You don't give up _ever_. Even when it would be the smart thing to do. Who am I kidding? _Especially_ when it would be the smart thing to do."

Iruka lay very still on the hard ground and felt very strange. Was he still feverish or had he really been kidnapped by what seemed to be a manzai act?

He heard Left sigh in defeat. "Go, feed your pet, but don't come crying to me when he bites your hand."

A grumble of protest, then rustling and footsteps.

Iruka held his breath, closed his eyes and waited for whatever was to come.


	2. Into the fire

Iruka did his best to feign slow, regular breathing. Faking sleep wasn't that hard, but his pounding heart made it a lot more difficult. He tried to control his chakra, to suppress it as best as he could.

His captor was approaching in long strides, quickly, too quickly for Iruka to make a plan or even as much as a decision, and when the man kneeled down at his side, Iruka had to force himself not to hold his breath. He felt like a kid, helpless and painfully vulnerable.

"Hey," Right's voice was a hundred times softer than before, a hundred times more gentle. His hand touched Iruka's shoulder carefully. "Are you awake? I brought you something to eat. With my help, you'll get your strength back in no time, you'll see!"

_This man isn't going to kill me._ It was hope again, raising its ugly head, and yet this was what Iruka thought, what he felt when the stranger's hand settled on his shoulder. He knew this was a crucial moment, one that would determine the rest of his life – and more than anything probably the size of said rest – and he knew there might be a way to play it safe.

If he pretended to be out of it, to suffer from hallucinations, that might buy him some time. From what he'd gathered, he was more or less sure that he'd been in a state of semi-consciousness ever since those two had found him. Unable to survive on his own and even less able to pose a threat to them. They hadn't even tied him up. Which was stupid…unless… Unless they _really_ weren't worried about him.

Iruka's ruminations were interrupted by another "Hey" followed by a gentle shake. And that was when he decided to throw caution to the wind. After all, what did he have left to lose? Nothing but his life, a missing nin's life, and even now he could still conjure up a crystal clear picture of Yamazaki-sensei standing in front of the class, proclaiming, "A missing nin's life is worthless, never forget that!"

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He wasn't rewarded with a great reveal because it was dark, and the man had placed himself between the fire and Iruka, looming over him so he was blocking out the starlight as well. Iruka couldn't make out much more than a dark silhouette.

"Who are you?" Iruka asked. "Why did you… help me?" His mouth was too dry, speaking was exhausting. He couldn't even think about moving around; if those two decided to kill him, there would be nothing he could do. But that was fine, it didn't matter anymore.

"He's lucid?" The voice came from further away, it was sharp and alert and definitely not Right, who shifted and turned around to address the speaker.

"I'm not sure; he should eat and rest. Maybe tomorrow his energies will have—"

"I'm lucid," Iruka said. He hadn't meant to interrupt Right, but he had to get it out as long as he had the courage. Or as long as he lacked the common sense to keep his mouth shut.

"Okay, get him over here." Left's voice sounded different when it wasn't reduced to that lazy drawl Iruka had heard before, all humor was gone as well, and Right obeyed immediately, grabbing Iruka around the waist and lifting him effortlessly, blanket and everything.

The motion made Iruka sick, made his head spin. He didn't have the presence of mind to even really look at the man who was carrying him, not until he was put down next to the fire, where he collapsed into a heap, ending up lying on his side, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the flames.

He could feel their heat on his face, could see their light, an orange splatter that remained painted on the inside of his eyelids. His skin felt too tight; if he got any closer, it would melt and bubble and drip off his bones.

"Please—" No, he'd sworn he wouldn't beg. Iruka pressed his lips together and waited, trying to calm his breathing and his mind.

When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but dark earth and dancing flames. The men had withdrawn into the forest, just out of sight.

"Relax, I'm just going to ask you some questions," Left's voice came from the shadows. "What's your name?"

He would stick to the truth, that was the only way, wasn't it?

Iruka stared straight ahead, at the kindling that was slowly eaten up. The ground beneath him was soft and fragrant, a living forest floor. If he died here, all kinds of animals would come to consume his body, and he would return to the earth. That wasn't such a bad fate.

"Umino Iruka," he said, running his fingers through the mulch. Bits of bark and dead leaves. Something small and black skittered across the back of his hand. It tickled.

"And where are you from, Iruka-kun?" Left sounded so conversational, like they'd just met in a bar. Like he wasn't deciding right now whether he would kill Iruka. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe his mind was already made up.

"Konohagakure." Saying it made him feel nauseous; this alone was enough to get him killed.

But Left remained calm, completely unimpressed. "You're a shinobi?" he asked.

"Yes."

"What rank?"

"Chunin."

"What was your last mission?"

"I'm not…I didn't—" Iruka swallowed. He would die either way, wouldn't he? It didn't really matter what he said. "I worked in the village. Mission desk."

"Ah, is that so? Hm." A pause. Where was Right? "How did you end up in the Forest of Wind then?"

"I… I was running." Like a coward.

"My, my, have we caught ourselves a deserter?" Left chuckled. When he spoke again, there was a lilt of humor in his voice. "What made you run, Iruka-kun? And who might be chasing you?"

"No one… I don't think. It's not like that." The last thing Iruka wanted this man to think was that keeping him around would get them into trouble.

"What is it like, then?" Left prompted jovially. "Explain it to us."

Iruka's mind was reeling, he felt a shiver run up his spine. Mizuki, he could see him, the way he'd looked at Iruka when Iruka had been taken away. There'd been this light in his eyes. Like the sparks from the crackling campfire, it had burnt Iruka. How could he explain that?

Left just wanted the bare facts, but even those were hard to spell out. "I was arrested because I… I said something."

"What did you say?"

"I shared… classified information." The words of the special jounin who'd arrested him that day.

Left sighed; he sounded like an exasperated academy teacher. "Well, don't leave us hanging now, Iruka-kun. The classified information?"

"I read a mission report and… it said…" Not much actually, Iruka realized. All this for a little rumor, and he didn't even know the actual rumor. "It mentioned the _Toad Sage_ ," he finished lamely.

There was a gasp. "Jiraiya-sama?" Definitely not Left. "Jiraiya-sama is—" Iruka heard a hiss and Right shut up. Before, he'd thought the two were equals. They'd spoken like friends, but now Iruka suspected that he'd been wrong. Left was in charge. What if he gave the order to kill Iruka?

"What did it say exactly?" Left asked. He sounded… alert, but nowhere near as excited as the other guy. Still, they knew Jiraiya-sama, didn't they? They'd not just heard of him, they _knew_ him. Then… what? Were they from Konoha? Iruka felt himself tense up; he didn't know. He couldn't tell. And he didn't have anything to give them. His information was useless.

"Not much…" He was stalling helplessly. "Some Amegakure nin were overheard… they talked about him… I don't know what they said. It wasn't in the report…"

"What about you? What did you think? And what did you say?" Left was persistent.

_What did I think? Why do you care?_

Iruka watched the fire, remembering that moment again. He'd felt exhilaration, relief, hope. Back then, when he'd read the words, it was like someone had told him, _everything will be alright._ He knew better now.

"…I… I thought it meant… that he is alive." It was a reach, a pathetic little unfounded hope. Even hearing himself say it made him feel ashamed. He'd thrown his life away for less than nothing.

"Do you want him to be?"

A strange question, Iruka thought.

"I'm not—" Why start lying now? Iruka swallowed. His throat was so dry, it hurt. "Yes, of course I want him to be alive," he said.

"Then what about your Hokage?"

"They were team mates; Jiraiya-sama could… he could talk to Orochimaru-sama. If he's in Amegakure… there could be a treaty." Did he really believe that? Iruka wasn't even sure himself.

"That's what you think?" Left's tone was outright mocking. "That it's that simple?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you here, Iruka-kun?"

"I already told you—" Iruka's heart was hammering in his ribcage. Suddenly, he remembered that when he was little, he'd found an injured bird once, and when he'd held it in his fist, he'd been able to feel its heartbeat, like the whole tiny creature was pulsing, and now he knew what that must have felt like for the little bird.

" _Why_ are you _here_? How did you go from doing your pathetic little job every single day to lying in a ditch in the Forest of Wind?"

"I told you I was arrested!" Defiance steeled Iruka's voice. If he was to die, then not like a worm, not begging, he'd promised himself that. "I escaped from prison… I ran. I told you that," he finished accusingly.

"You were arrested for treason, weren't you, Iruka-kun?"

"What do you want me to say?" Iruka wanted to draw his knees against his chest and wrap his arms around them, but knew that he wouldn't manage even that little.

"I only want to hear the truth."

"They said I was a traitor," he said bitterly.

_Mizuki, are you happy? I hope you're happy._

"What do _you_ think, are you a traitor?"

Iruka drew in a shaky breath. He could smell the fire, the ashes. "I _love_ Konoha," he said more to himself than to the other men. He remembered his dad pointing up at the Hokage Mountain, telling stories about Shodaime and Nidaime. How great they'd been. He remembered Sandaime coming to the academy on Iruka's first day, to talk to the class, and how he'd actually talked _to_ them, not just at them like adults tended to do. _You all carry the Will of Fire,_ he'd said, and when Iruka saw the way he looked at them, he just knew it to be true, more importantly, he knew _Sandaime_ knew it to be true.

And then he remembered that other day, all those years ago, Orochimaru-sama standing on top of the Hokage Tower and announcing his decision to the cheering masses, Iruka among them, full of excitement, full of righteous anger at the enemy – he wished he could go back to that moment and just shake that stupid boy or punch him in the face.

"I was for the war…" he said. "I thought… I thought it was right. Kumogakure… they tricked us; they abducted that little girl, and then they had the gall to demand her father's life. Because he protected her. It was wrong, and," Iruka heard the tremor in his own voice, but he couldn't stop now. This was the ugly truth. "I… I was glad that Orochimaru-sama stepped in, that he didn't allow the clan to make that decision on its own. That he wouldn't just sacrifice one of us to appease them." _Oh, the irony._

"Do you know what happened to that girl?" Left asked.

"She's dead; she died a long time ago. Her father, too. They didn't survive the first year of the war."

"And that surprised you? The fact that people actually died in this war?"

Temper flared within Iruka, he couldn't help it. "No! I just thought…" And just as quickly, he deflated. He had no excuse.

"What did you think, Iruka-kun?" Left's voice had that mocking quality again. He couldn't be from Konoha. He couldn't. He didn't understand at all.

"I don't know," Iruka said. "But I didn't think it would be like _this,"_ he began, and then it was like a dam inside of him had just broken _._ "I didn't think the war would last this long; I didn't think the other nations would get involved; I didn't think the Hokage would refuse _every_ peace offer; I didn't think people would be… altered; I didn't think there would be an attempted coup d'état in Konoha and I certainly didn't think that the Hokage would punish the traitor _by taking over his_ _body._ "

Seeing that, the first time, seeing Uchiha Itachi and knowing it wasn't him, that he was gone… his body _possessed_ by the Hokage. That Orochimaru had done that—

"And now he walks around wearing that boy's skin," he heard himself say, disgust like acid on his tongue. "He _benefited_ from that… just like the war… it's not right… and the people who follow him... They need to be stopped. Konoha…needs to be stopped."

Iruka felt horror at his own words, sheer, naked horror like ice in his veins, making him rigid, but also… Making him see for the first time.

"They were right… I _am_ a traitor." Iruka might have cried then - he wanted to -, a few tears at least for the dead, his parents, his lost home, but the heat from the fire had rendered his eyes dry. He had nothing left to give.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it, Iruka-kun?" Left's voice drifted over, sounding almost soothing.

"I told you, rival! My gut is never wrong!"

"We'll see about that." The words were accompanied by the sound of movement, rustling and footsteps. Iruka had to press his lips together to keep his teeth from chattering. He was helpless, terrified. More than anything, he'd been wrong. He wasn't ready, he _wasn't._

Iruka turned his head towards the sounds and watched at the dark outlines of trees, waiting for _them_ to come out, to kill him. He didn't dare to blink, his eyes burning.

Then they stepped into the flickering light, and Iruka found himself staring at the face of a dead man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's all there is.


End file.
